


don't leave me tongue tied

by dimpleforyourthoughts



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Sickfic, Tonsillectomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleforyourthoughts/pseuds/dimpleforyourthoughts
Summary: Jensens just a high schooler with a long silent and long suffering crush on his best friend. But when he loses his voice in a post-op recovery, he kind of starts to lose his mind, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemondropsonice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemondropsonice/gifts).



> written as commission fic for the fanworks auction to help Nyxocity. 
> 
> Art created by the fabulous angelic lemondropsonice, who purchased and prompted the fic. 
> 
> ALSO there is podfic created by applegeuse [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9371177)

***

There’s a special place in hell reserved for people like Jensen Ackles.

Not that he didn’t know this already—Jensen Ackles is a self-prescribed cynic at best, a sarcastic piece of shit at worst, born with a sailor mouth and sinful good looks that he clearly hasn’t paid back yet in good karma—he’s been doomed since day one for mere existence alone.

And Jensen can get with that, hell, Jensen can run with that, he’s never been one to get through things the easy way.

So yeah, he was prepared to go straight to hell once made his way around the Monopoly board of life, collected his two dollars past Go, and made his way to the afterlife.

He just ever expected the journey there to be hell on top of it.

 _Tonsillitis,_ a word that Jensen was beginning to feel was the bane of his existence, was a nasty and painful sickness, the bastard child of strep throat that had taken it’s hold of Jensen a week ago, turned him feverish and miserable and bitching up a storm. And just when he thought he might be getting over it, a second doctor’s opinion informed Jensen and his worried mother that hot-diddly-damn, not _only_ did he have strep throat, but his tonsils were infected to the degree where the doctor recommended removal of said tonsils, to avoid further complications with upcoming viruses.

Which, long story short, made Jensen want to scream until his tonsils fell out of their own accord.

So going into surgery and getting the tonsils removed is a fucking pain in the ass, but Jensen finds that he can’t complain when he wakes up, even though he’s groggy as hell and feeling like he’d just sucked sixty five hundred dicks. It’s hard to complain when he wakes up to find his favorite person ever dozing next to him in the visitor’s chair: the real reason Jensen’s going to hell, when he nuts up and admits the god’s honest truth.

Jared Padalecki—six feet of gangly limbs and sleepy smiles and somehow the center of Jensen’s goddamn world at sixteen years old—leaps up and bounces over, cuffing Jensen’s shoulder lightly.

“You’re awake!” Jared grins, and then immediately takes off at a gallops pace with, “How are you feeling? Does it hurt? Can I get you water? Doc said you could go home by the end of the day, your mom said I could spend the night, keep you company.”

Jensen’s opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘as long as you promise not to eat all the popsicles’ but Jared shouts “WAIT!” and clamps his hands over Jensen’s mouth. On any other given day, Jensen would bite his hand and take retaliation punch that came with it in turn. The physical abuse was somehow always worth the blink-and-you-miss-it smile that Jared tried to hide. But this time Jensen could feel the soreness of his throat before he’d even registered anything else, so yeah, Jared was probably smart to keep him from talking, and definitely not deserving of a bite to the hand.

“The doctor says if you try to talk, you might make your throat bleed. You’re on vocal rest, buddy, for at least a week or so. Doc’s orders.”

Jensen doesn’t need words to show his feeling on that, kindly sticks up a middle finger straight in the air that Jared snatches and pins to the hospital bed, snickering stupidly. For the briefest moment Jared’s sweaty palm is pressed to his, and Jensen gets to pretend, allows himself the simple indulgence in a fantasy that begins and ends with simply getting to hold Jared’s hand and have it not be weird.

Like he said, there is a special place in hell reserved for fuckers like Jensen.

But with a view like this, who needs Heaven anyhow.

***

In retrospect, Jensen can pretty much affirm that he’s been on a ‘Compass Pointed Due Jared’ track for about as long as he can remember.

There’s not a day that goes by where Jensen doesn’t ask himself how he could have prevented falling in love with his best friend, because while Jensen has done his fair share of idiotic things in this lifetime, none of them have been more idiotic than this.

But like a fucking Greek Tragedy, this cruel twist of fate seems to have been slated for Jensen since birth. In the stars, unavoidable: he would fall in love with Jared Padalecki, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And Jensen didn’t exaggerate; it really had been fated since _birth_ , and maybe even before that. Sherri Padalecki and Donna Ackles had met in a Lamaze Class, on a day that both their husbands had work and couldn’t make it. The two of them bonded instantly over the tried and true method of bitching about how uncomfortable it is being pregnant, and just like that, instantly became best friends.

The timing could not have been more serendipitous, or unfortunate, in Jensen’s case.

He and Jared were born exactly a month apart, and their mothers collectively took to this by having them attend play dates all the way up into their entry to kindergarten. Half of the baby photos of Jensen have Jared in them, either right next to him or somewhere in the frame, getting into trouble. There are home videos of them talking garbled baby gibberish to one another in the playpens, of running around in the sprinklers naked together, of countless joint birthday parties and Halloweens with coordinating costumes.

It was essentially like being outside on a hot summer’s day that lasts sixteen years, and trying not to look at the sun, growing up with Jared. In the tree of Jensen’s life, Jared was the vines, wrapped around his branches so frequently and so tightly that there was no growing where Jared didn’t follow.

Jensen would like to think that in ten years or so, when he’s got the emotional maturity to handle this amount of baggage, he will look back and find all this gay teen angst poignant and poetic.

But in this moment, it’s just gay teen angst. And it fucking sucks.

What had started out as a silly childhood crush, sprung from affection and proximity and always looking after Jared, had been torrentially destroyed by the hurricane that was puberty. They hit sixteen and Jared shot up like a weed, as tall as Jensen, almost as strong, and twelve times as smart. They hit sixteen and suddenly Jared had muscles where there used to be nothing but scrawny limbs, shaggy tussled hair where it used to be ringlets of tame curls, a timbre of voice tone where it used to be nothing but a tiny squeak.

The coltish, unknowing teenaged growth of Jared had been the painful and hormonal end of Jensen’s sanity as he knew it.

It had been bad enough that Jensen would already take a bullet for Jared, pretty much do anything for Jared if he asked. It was infinitely worse now that, on top of all of that, he also maybe wanted to hold Jared’s hand too, maybe make out on top of it. It wasn’t like Jensen suddenly flipped the switch and went from wanting to be Jared’s best friends to wanting to fuck. Rather, it was just heaping on even more emotions and confusing feelings that made everything muddled and messy.

Jared drives them to school once spring break ends (the prime time to get your tonsils taken out, apparently). It’s day four or so or so of his vocal rest, and Jensen’s already made himself sick on popsicles and yogurt and assorted liquids diet. What he’d truly kill for is a massive burrito, or some steak. Something big and chewy that he has to cut into pieces just to swallow down.

To his credit, Jared’s pulled out all the stops on this one to make him feel better. He shows up early that morning with a ‘Get Better’ kit for Jensen, which consists of Otter Pops, Jared’s iPod (which has a wealth of top 40s upbeat music that Jensen would be too cool for at all times except for when he’s in a mood like this), and a small whiteboard and marker. The teachers at school apparently already know that Jensen’s on vocal rest, due to Jared emailing all of them a copy of the doctor’s note. He’s freshly showered and Jensen can smell him as soon as he comes in to Jensen’s room whistling to drag him out of bed.

He’s so beautiful it makes Jensen’s throat ache, somehow more than it already is. Even though he’s simultaneously the bane of Jensen’s existence for getting him out of bed and out into the living world.

“You’re going to get through this day and then you can go home and listen to Hamilton or Phantom of the Opera and eat ice cream,” Jared says soothingly, coaxing a reluctant Jensen out the door. “Or West Side Story. Doesn’t that sound nice?

Truth be told, Jensen would rather just play hooky and continue moping about on the couch, but Jared pouts so prettily, puts all his lanky body weight into pushing—more like pressing, close and warm and a little sweaty from the warm spring air _Jesus H. Christ—_ Jensen out the door, which pretty much dissipates all Jensen’s willingness to fight.

***

The day as a whole is miserable. As it stands, Jensen’s a pretty mediocre student on a good day, so he really _should_ make an effort to keep up and pay attention.

It’s difficult. Jensen’s stomach is growling because he hasn’t eaten solid food in days and the classroom is hot and he just wants to be able to make _noise_ for fuck’s sake. He’s hopeless to actually pay attention to the teacher so he lets his eyes wander, settle on Jared in the row next to him, one seat forward.

At this point, Jensen’s got plenty practice sneaking long stares at Jared when he’s not looking. He’s got it damn near down to an art form. Staring stealthily is the only way to go about it these days. He watches Jared, the ends of his damp hair curling against his neck, the mole on his left cheek next to his nose. He’s got the cap of his pen dragging against his lip as he listens to the teacher, taking it away to take the occasional note, knee bouncing up and down as he does.

It would be easier, probably, if Jensen just told him how he felt. Easier, but also a lot more painful. He’s seen the way that girls titter nervously when Jared Padalecki walks by them in the hallway. Jared flirts with _everyone_ , which is good in some ways, and horrifying in others, because Jensen exists in a constant paranoid state of not knowing which flirtations Jared doles out are genuine or not. Even more paranoid that they’re never really directed toward him.

Which is fine. Let the world have the flirt, charmed version of Jared. Jensen knows that, even if the romance is imagined and entirely one-sided, he at least gets the purest form of Jared. Jared the best friend. Jared who snores like a freight train, who cries every single time he watches the Lion King and Mufasa dies. No one else gets to see that Jared.

And it’s because of that, why Jensen hasn’t told Jared how he really feels. What if Jared balks, is disgusted, and never wants to talk to Jensen again…well. Jensen can’t think of anything worse. He’d rather lose the ability to ever speak again, then speak his true feelings for Jared, and have that be the severing and end of their friendship.

The thought of that keeps Jensen distracted all the way through lunch, following Jared to the cafeteria and keeping an eye on him all the way until after they’ve sat down with their friends, leaving Jensen to pine and eat his applesauce while Jared walks to the lunch line to get his meal of solid foods.

“Dude, was the operation successful?” Chad asks in an undertone. “Because it seems to me that you’ve come back even gayer than before.”

Jensen’s eyes widen, then narrow. He grabs the white board and scribbles, “None of your fucking business.”

“Seriously though.” Genevieve chimes in, settling her feet in Jensen’s lap as she stretches out on the bench. “You have to tell him eventually.”

“Yeah dude. This Brokeback Mountain Moping has hit, like, defcon levels of pathetic.”

Jensen writes again. _Nothing I can do about it_.

Danneel, Gen’s girlfriend, slides in alongside them, pressing a swift kiss to Gen’s cheek and jumping in the conversation as if she’s heard the whole thing. “You don’t think he couldn’t return the feelings?”

Jensen shrugs, ignores the pitying look Gen and Danni give him. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t know about this crush in the first place. He’d resolved to tell no one, absolutely nothing. But one night—during the summer, when Jared was gone for two weeks at a family reunion and Jensen thought he was going to lose his mind with missing him—Jensen got drunk on a bottle of Bailey’s and asked the three of them, fellow buddies in drinking, _what if I fell in love with Jared_ and that was pretty much the end of any so-called secrecy.

They don’t push the issue much, which he’s grateful for. But lately they’ve been more persistent than usual. And now, when he can’t tell them to fuck off, their support is more nauseating than ever.

“You do realize you’re never going to get what you want if you don’t _ask_ for it, right?” Gen asks.

Jensen shrugs. It doesn’t really matter, does it. Not when he’s sure Jared doesn’t feel that way about him, other than platonic affection.

“Ugh.” Chad groans. “Seriously Jenny, I love you and all, but I’m so goddamn tempted to take matters into my own hands.”

Jensen shoots him a sharp warning look that communicates everything he doesn’t need to write. _Absofuckinglutely not_.

But then Chad grins. “What, it’s not like you’re able to deny it, being that you’re all Little Mermaid On Land with no voice and all,” he starts to rise, glancing meaningfully in the direction of the lunch line, where Jared is checking out. “Guess you can’t really stop me then if I _tell_ Jay about your little crush, can you?”

Jensen proves Chad wrong, extremely wrong, by lunging across the table to strangle him, and attempting to smear a handful of mashed potatoes on his head. Gen shrieks, and Chad squeals like a little girl, turning red in the face.

“Hey hey hey!” Jared yanks Jensen back, and Jensen is kind of wishing the earth would swallow him up whole because he well aware of how calming the effect of Jared is on him, how his hands—long fingered, paint often found under the fingernails, stuck in the lines of his knuckles—calm Jensen quicker than anything else. “Jesus, Chad, can you _not_ try to piss Jensen off? He just had surgery!”

“What, and you got assigned to be his professional caretaker?” Chad says cattily.

“I volunteered,” Jared says perkily, sitting right down next to Jensen. Chad’s eyes dart between the two of them, silently encouraging, or really _daring_ Jensen to surprise him. Jensen just gives his head a tiny shake, which of course, Chad rolls his eyes at, sighs exhaustedly.

It’s not that Jensen can blame Chad—blame any of them, really—for being frustrated with Jensen. He’s incapable of shutting up about Jared for more than ten seconds when Jared isn’t around, and most of the time it’s to bitch and moan about how much he _likes_ Jared. It hasn’t been easy, because Jesus knows Jensen hasn’t _made_ it easy for them. He spends all his time mooning over his best friend, and then does absolutely nothing about it.

“Man, I gotta say, I kind of like it when Ackles can’t run his big mouth.”

“It has its perks.” Jared smiles sidelong at Jensen, winking at him in a way that Jensen knows is only for him, but also knows that Gen and Chad take note of. “He actually managed to avoid making his opponents break down in tears in debate today, but that’s likely because he wasn’t able to say a word.”

It quickly becomes clear that the whiteboard in Jensen’s hand is useless. The conversation changes too quickly than he can write to respond to, and the motherfuckers he’d once called friends are too traitorous to give him enough time to respond. They seem to delight gleefully in Jensen’s helplessness, teasing him for not being able to do a myriad of his usual prattling, until—

“Alright, alright.” Jared chucks a few goldfish in Chad’s direction, as he does an impression of Jensen’s silent gaping anger. “Lay off the guy. You’re going to regret being assholes when _you_ need to get surgery.”

“Pft. This temple of a body is invincible,” Chad snorts. “No one can harm this vessel.”

Jensen gives him a vicious kick in the shin for that, proving his point wrong, and sending the gang into raucous laughter again.

“Hey,” Jared sidles up alongside Jensen in the hallway as they wander to class some time later, “Don’t worry about them. I think they’re just overexcited that you can no longer tell them to shut the fuck up anymore.”

Jensen opens his mouth in what he only wishes could be a vicious retort, but Jared just bumps his shoulder against Jensen, soothing. “Soon we’ll be back home and we can eat ice cream and watch more Breaking Bad. Just get through these next few hours, okay? I promised your mom I wouldn’t let you fuck up your recovery. And you know how much your mom loves me.”

Jared looks so pleading and sweet. Jensen’s a fucking sucker but he’s helpless to deny him what he’s asking for, sighs and follows Jared to their next class, feeling like a show pony as the white board and dry erase marker dangle from the lanyard around his neck.

By the end of the day, Jensen’s got a headache and his stomach is aching with hunger, because a liquid diet can only do so much when you are a teenaged boy, but he’s managed to get through all eight periods of class without murder, which is a higher goal than he’d hoped for.

It feels, almost, like the day won’t end so badly. That it might even end on a high note.

Which of course, is when Jensen has to go and ruin everything.

***

Sometimes, it gets difficult to track where Jensen ends and Jared begins. When you know someone the way Jensen knows Jared, you lose track of which aspects of their personality were yours first, which quirks originated where, which turns of phrase and who started what inside joke. It becomes, essentially, a chicken or the egg sort of situation. He doesn’t know if loving Jared came from knowing him, or loving Jared was the reason he knew him in the first place.

Whatever the reason, it’s making him crazy.

They’re in the living room some time after school. A week has gone by since Jensen’s surgery, and he still has managed not to try and talk. Jensen’s parents won’t be getting home until late, Mac’s at Girl Scouts, and no one’s going to be home for quite some time. Walter White is yelling at Jesse Pinkman for some stupid shit on the tv, but none of it matters. Jensen can’t even pay attention.

There’s space between him and Jared on the couch that feels charged. And Jensen knows he’s delusional and imagining it, he _knows_ it, but he’s aware of every movement Jared makes. Each pull of his lips as he smirks at a joke, each gentle shift of his body on the couch. It gives Jensen the sickly sweet urge to touch, to press, to plaster himself against Jared the way he’s always wanted to. Just the two of them, stupid horny teenager, on this couch, with the fucking cat watching them in the corner of the room.

It builds and builds, the feeling inside of him. And Jensen doesn’t know _why_ he’s suddenly feels that he’s got to scream it from the rooftops. Maybe because before, before he lost the fucking _ability to speak_ , Jensen could release the want in him in bouts of self-deprecation, in dirty jokes that make Jared snort, in bickering that lasts hours and leaves Jared pissy with him. Jensen’s a smooth talker, a regular loud mouth. He deals with feelings by never shutting the fuck up about anything else. It works, ninety percent of the time.

Except for that pesky other ten percent. Except for now. Because now he’s sitting here, unable to say a thing, all the things he’s never said welling up in him like an expensive bottle of champagne about to pop.

Jared finally catches him staring, smiles again. “Hungry? Want some more popsicles?”

Jensen doesn’t know how to communicate without saying something fucking idiotic like _please shove your tongue down my throat_ , so he nods numbly. Lets Jared go to the kitchen. Falls back against the couch and presses the heels of his palms to his closed eyes. He feels like he’s going to have a fucking panic attack, and all they’re doing is sitting on the _fucking_ couch watching a tv show about _meth chefs_ for _fuck’s sake._

“Bummer for you, Jen. We’re all out of otter pops.”

He removes his hands from over his eyes, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Jared’s strolled back into the living room, absently scratching his stomach beneath his shirt, the way he does when he’s hungry. He’s looking at Jensen. But Jensen’s only looking at his hipbones. And feeling like he’s going to die.

“No need to look so upset, baby.” Jared teases, flopping down on the couch. “I can go get some.”

Like a man possessed, Jensen shakes his head. Like that alone will convey the desperate _I need to tell you something right now before I implode._

“What? What is it?” Says Jared.

Jensen just continues to shake his head more violently.

“Sorry? What’s that you were saying?” Jared cups a hand around his ear, teasing. “I can’t hear you if you don’t speak up.”

Jensen can’t. Jensen can’t, and Jared’s leaning, and Jared’s smiling, and Jensen only has so much self control before he just fucking snaps.

So, he does the next best thing to talking, just hauls Jared in by the collar and kisses him right on the mouth.

It’s all wrong—Jensen notices that immediately. Their mouths are a scant half inch off kilter and their chins knock uncomfortably and because Jared is mid sentence, Jensen mostly kisses his teeth anyway. Not to mention that both of their eyes are rather comically open for a split second.

Leave it to Jensen to completely screw it up.

It’s all wrong, and then it’s not. Because Jared’s eyes close and he makes this soft little gasping noise that Jensen files away to remember for the rest of his life. He presses closer to the sound, angling his head a little different, pulling away to reposition his mouth and then lean back in for another kiss. He’s still holding on to the collar of Jared’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him anchored.

But Jared’s ready for him the second time around and meets Jensen half way. His lips are chapped and warm, his chin the slightest bit stubbly. His hands tremble when they settle on Jensen’s hips, flexing in the fabric of Jensen’s t-shirt like he hasn’t quite figured out how to touch, but just knows he wants to.

Jensen doesn’t exactly mean to pull Jared on top of him, but Jared doesn’t exactly protest, and he figures they’re in business.

It’s as dizzying as it is thrilling, kissing Jared like he’s always wanted to, and kiss Jensen does. What starts as innocent collisions of mouths becomes something a little bit hungrier, and Jared falls into Jensen, their chests and bodies aligned and pressed and hot. It makes Jensen crazy, actually fucking crazy, too hot all at once and not hot enough. When the tip of Jared’s tongue brushes Jensen’s bottom lip, he shudders, the sensation of it working through him in a slow burn, like magma rolling down a hill, covering everything in it’s path with a blanket of incineration.

Jared, to his credit, does not hold back. His mouth _ruins_ Jensen, eager and searching and unfamiliar as it is. Jensen’s hands, they rove, unconscious of the motion and only willing to touch any part of Jared they can get at: cheeks and jaw and shoulders and the small of his back. Jensen swears he doesn’t _mean_ to grab Jared’s ass. The motion certainly surprises the both of them, especially as Jensen finds himself with a handful of what turns out to be a _very_ nice ass and Jared suddenly grinds down against Jensen, a noise escaping his mouth unlike anything Jensen’s ever heard.

It’s like pressing the gas pedal on an old car only to find out it’s a speed racer, roaring from zero to one hundred miles an hour.

The two of them jolt apart, eyes wide and shocked. There’s a high flush in Jared’s cheeks. He scrambles off the couch, panting.

“Uh.” Jared’s eyes dart to and fro. “I…I gotta go.”

Jensen can’t say anything. Can’t say a goddamn fucking thing.

The door slams. Jared goes. And Jensen freaks the fuck out.

***

Yeah, so maybe Jensen’s life blows a bit. He spends the whole afternoon alternating between trying to drown himself in the shower and trying to do homework and actually focus on something. He tries to get a grip, basically, but it’s difficult. He kissed Jared. He _kissed Jared_. And in the process, probably ruined any and all chances of ever having a relationship—let alone a friendship—beyond today.

The sun goes down. Jensen blinks at the calendar. One week, just like that, has gone by. Time to start talking. He’d spent so much time wishing he could talk, and now that he’s got the chance to, he’s really got nothing to say.

Fuck.

He thinks about words. He thinks about his first words, something silly like _dada_ or _mama_ , something arbitrary. He thinks about the past week of silence, and all the months before it, a different kind of silence. About the words he wants to say now, if he could. If somewhere were there to listen.

There’s a knock on the front door. Probably his mom or his siblings.

Or Jared. Jensen’s jaw drops when he opens the door to Jared. He holds up a bag from the grocery store, like some sort of peace offering.

“I—uh.” Jared looks a bit sheepish. “I went to go get popsicles.”

“I love you,” Jensen says. His voice is hoarse as fuck and yes, yes it really does sound like he just sucked sixty five hundred dicks. He blushes. It feels stupid to blurt out after years of silence. But if he never gets to say anything ever again, he wants his first and last words to be this.

“Well.” Jared says. “That was quick.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Jensen rasps. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Like. In a big way. A real way.” He looks at Jared meaningfully. “A _gay_ way.”

Jared doesn’t particularly rolls his eyes, but it’s something close to it. “Dude, I already knew _that_.”

Jensen’s eyes bug out of his head. “You _knew_?”

Jared does roll his eyes now, sky high, and Jensen can’t help but feel like he’s being pranked or something because _what_.

“This may come as a surprise,” says Jared, “But you’re sort of dumber than a bag of rocks.”

“But—“ Jensen sputters. “You flirt! You flirt with everyone.”

Jared just looks exasperated now, a bit crazy eyed as he looks at Jensen, like Jensen’s an idiot, like Jensen should _know_ this.

“I flirt with people, sure. I tease and play and bat my eyelashes, but none of that’s real, Jen. I flirt with them,” Jared says. “But I _love_ you.”

Jensen’s brain appears to be malfunctioning. He can’t do anything but stare, even as Jared ducks his head, looks _shy_ , which is something Jensen has not seen on him since they were kids.

“I’ve loved you pretty much my entire life,” Jared says, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other clutching the box of popsicles. “Which is a pretty long time, when you think about it.”

Jensen stares, watches the warmest shade of pink creep into Jared’s cheeks. He should say something. He should _do_ something, but he can only stare at Jared, the most amazed, hopeful feeling rising in his chest. He’s smiling so hard it hurts.

Jared sighs, like he’s put upon, and walks past Jensen, sets the popsicles in the freezer. Jensen stares, as Jared walks over to him, takes his hand, leads him to the couch. When Jared pushes Jensen down onto the couch Jensen goes without resistance, feeling like his legs are made of jelly.

“Scoot over.”

“What are you doing?” Jensen scoots, feeling a thrill go through his entire system as Jared presses up against his side, leans up to whisper in his ear.

“I am cuddling. It’s what you do when you watch a movie.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows, stomach plummeting. “I just told you I’m in love with you, and you want to watch a movie?”

“Well,” and then Jared smiles, his foxish eyes glinting mischievously, “Unless you’ve got other ideas…I’m always open to suggestions.”

They’re not even past the opening credits before they’re kissing again, Jared humming the Pirates of the Caribbean theme against Jensen’s eager lips.

***

They’ve got nothing to hide, not really, but when they show up to school on Monday, Jensen almost contemplates walking back out the door and playing hooky altogether.

It’s not that he’s not happy (He is actually, unapologetically and _stupidly_ happy. Singing in the shower happy. Doodling hearts on his homework happy. Smiling like a lunatic in public for no reason happy), but rather dreading the reaction of their friends that turns into an almost comical fiasco.

The gang is seated in their usual nook of the front courtyard at lunch, only this time—unlike all the times before—they stare open mouthed as Jensen and Jared approach.

“So?” Danneel shouts, even though they’re standing right there. “What’s the verdict you two?”

“We’re together!” Jared holds up their obvious interlaced fingers, and Jensen rolls his eyes, bites down a smile.

“Wow! This is like the parent trap!” Gen chirps. “Mom and Dad back together again!”

“Does this mean you guys are going to be swapping spit all over the place?” Chad asks, looking slightly green in the face, miming a gag reflex that’s acting up. “Because I’m not sure I could handle that.”

Jared looks down at his watch. “Your vocal rest time is up. By all means honey, go off.”

He’s got a playful smile and a flush on his cheeks that came with the word ‘honey’. He’s wearing the shirt that he stole off Jensen’s floor this morning after they woke up and made out all over his bed—morning wood, morning breath and all. His hair is still damp from the shower they took together, Jensen volunteering to wash it himself, kissing the soap lather gathering on Jared’s neck.

Jensen loves him so much it makes him weak at the fucking knees. Put a fork in him he is _done_.

With a slightly sordid wink, he turns to his friends.

“Fuck you,” he says breezily, pointing to all of them, the smug little shits that they are, “And you, and most especially,” Jensen slugs Chad on the shoulder, causing him to yelp, “Fuck _you_ , Murray.”

“This is abuse.” Chad yelps. “I’m calling child protective services.”

“Come at me, bro. Now that I’ve got my voice back, you’re going to be hard pressed thinking of things to get me to shut up ever again.”

“I can think of a few things.” Jared winks, at which the gang all gags and wolf whistles in unison.

Jensen pulls Jared in, presses a pointed kiss to his laughing mouth, and lets his middle finger do the talking.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Don't Leave Me Tongue Tied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9371177) by [applegeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applegeuse/pseuds/applegeuse)




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